The well-dressed couple entered the
mall. She was perhaps in her 60s; he was probably five or six
years older. She was petite with a round face; he was
tall, a little over six feet, and broad, with a white Van Dyke
beard. He held the door open, then, after they were inside,
held out his arm for her to take. She looked up at him and
smiled. Several other people, observing them, also smiled; they
were so obviously a devoted couple.

Are you sure youll be all
right? she asked.

Ill be fine. Ill sit
in one of these chairs here. They put them out for husbands to sit on
while their wives go shopping.

I wont be long.

Take your time. Ill read the
paper.

Ill be back in less than half an
hour.

Good. Happy shopping.

He sat down in an armchair that wasnt
quite as comfortable as it looked. Maybe the mall people
didnt want people. to sit too long. He looked at the front
page of his paper, then observed the people passing by. He noticed
a high school girl with long brown hair walking across the lobby area.
Why wasnt she in school? She was a good-looking girl, even in those
ugly clothes she was wearing. And those ugly shoes. Why
would anyone want to wear them?

Who did she remind him of? Betty
Mazurky. Hed had a crush on her all through high
school. Hed never once spoken to her. What would have
happened if he did? Probably nothing. Then
there was that German girl hed met when he was over there in the
Army. What was her name? Greta, that was it. Hed
thought he was in love with her, had even made plans to bring her back to the
States. But her parents, not to mention his, had objected,
luckily. How young hed been then.

What had started him thinking about
this? The women in his life. Not many, but there was
one. Carolyn Ross. Hed met her in his first job,
at the advertising agency. She was a copywriter, could have been a
model. She was smart, beautiful, unobtainable, out of his
reach. But theyd been thrown together on a campaign and for some
reason she seemed to like him. And he was in love with her, at
least so hed thought at the time. When, as was inevitable,
she told him, gently, she was involved, that was the word
shed used, hed been crushed. Was that why hed
gone out to California? Maybe, although hed never told that
to anyone. Then hed met his wife, had children,
grandchildren. Was it all because he hadnt been able to win
Carolyn Ross?

Are you all right? His
wife was standing in front of him, holding a shopping bag.

Yes. Im fine.

You had such a funny look.
As if you were miles away.

No, Im right here. Did
you find what you wanted?

Yes, and it was on sale.

Good. He rose and they
left the mall, she holding his arm, a petite lady in her sixties, he a tall,
broad gentleman with a white Van Dyke beard, a couple obviously meant to be
together.